Chapter Eighteen
Bella
Vermont
I stayed tucked against his chest and let the memories from the day before wash over me.
I thought of his laugh, the steadiness in his hands, and the way my body began humming for him every time our eyes met.
The storm outside had sealed us off from the rest of the world, making it possible to forget all the reasons being with him was a terrible idea.
The fantasy suggested this could hold up in the light of day, but reality waited for us just beyond the door.
I was still a Holliston. Drew was still a Burke.
Sure, he was easy to spend time with. He was the kind of easy that had made me forget to brace for impact. He was smart, kind, and infuriatingly attentive. He was strong, funny, and very, very good in bed—and on the stairs, and in the shower.
I closed my eyes and inhaled, taking in the faint scent of soap, cedar, and the essence of him. The last two days had been good. They were the level of good that simply couldn’t last.
We couldn’t stay here, locked in some pretense that nothing beyond each other mattered.
I had responsibilities to return to, and so did he.
I found myself wondering who we would be to each other after this.
The thought of never having him smile at me the way he had yesterday—as if he were seeing something in me worth liking—made a familiar sadness press into my ribs.
I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, its red numbers glowing like a warning.
Two o’clock was the hour when bad decisions were easy to recognize but difficult to walk away from.
I could go back to sleep, wake to him watching me, and start the day by losing myself in his kisses.
I could let him pull me back into his arms and pretend the world didn’t exist.
But then what? Would we promise to call? Would we exchange polite texts until reality caught up to us? That was assuming he even cared enough to extend things that far.
He might take a more practical approach, as I should.
We had stepped outside of our lives and given each other the gift of a fantasy, a fling.
There was nothing to be sad about and nothing to hold on to.
Leaving before we put each other through an awkward, mutual letdown was the practical choice.
It was almost kind. For all I knew, he had a girlfriend back in Boston and would be relieved that I wasn’t going to complicate his life.
Was he seeing someone? The fact that I didn’t know—that despite having known him my entire life, there were still whole pieces of his that were a mystery—sharpened my resolve.
Drew shifted closer, lazy and unconscious, as if his body knew I was leaving. A sound left him, a quiet breath that was almost my name. For one impossible second, I imagined waking him gently to have one more day of whatever this was.
Then I remembered who I was. Postponing the pain wasn’t my style; I was someone who faced things head-on.
I slid out from under his arm, careful and surgical, and held my breath until my feet hit the cold floor.
My clothes were scattered across the room, a messy reminder of how out of character I’d allowed myself to behave.
I dressed quietly and efficiently. I didn’t look at the bed again, afraid that if I did, I would return to it.
In the kitchen, I pulled up the local weather and emergency feeds. The storm had passed, but it had left a parting gift of runoff flooding and freezing. A semi had jackknifed across the only mountain pass out of the resort. The roads weren’t just dangerous; they were temporarily closed.
A sharp, irrational flare of frustration hit me. It wasn’t at the storm, but at the timing. The universe seemed determined to keep me contained in the same space as Drew Burke long enough for me to give in and go back to him.
I shook my head and made a call to a private transport firm I’d used in the past. If I couldn’t get out, neither would anyone else.
It was unlikely that his plane would be able to safely land.
People were stranded. I arranged for additional plows and heavy-duty snow cats to join the local crews.
The dispatcher confirmed they could work with the ongoing efforts so the pass would be cleared, the stranded drivers rescued, and I would be out within the hour.
I arranged additional transportation for Brady, Nora, her friends, and Drew. The small private airfield we’d arrived at would need clearing as well. Could all of this be achieved without my assistance? Probably, but there was no reason to have resources and not utilize them.
It was the decent thing to do. My father might be many controversial things, but he had always cared for those around him.
Since relocating to Firebrook Valley, he’d poured money into beautifying the area and fought to ensure the locals weren’t pushed out.
He didn’t put his good deeds on blast, but behind the scenes, he’d always made sure Mabel’s college scholarship program reaped benefits for the residents.
He’d sworn me to secrecy when I uncovered his involvement.
When I asked him why, he said it was because the one thing more valuable to a person than money is their pride.
He didn’t believe in handouts, but he wanted the kids who worked at Mabel’s—those who received tutoring and worked hard to apply for college—to be rewarded.
Cryptically, he’d added that they’d learn how unfair the world was soon enough, and if he could delay that for a few years, I needed to let him.
No, my father wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t all bad either.
After putting my phone away, my gaze landed on the bowl of root beer barrels sitting on the counter.
I stared at it longer than I should have.
Why did life have to be so damned complicated?
I considered waking Drew to give him the update, but then I’d have to explain why I was packed and sneaking out as if I were ashamed of what we’d done.
And I wasn’t. Was I?
Life had taught me that overthinking didn’t lead to a calmer place.
It was better to trust my instincts, take action, and weather the results.
I found a piece of stationery and a pen.
I kept to the facts; I couldn’t get lost in wishing life were different.
My mother was a whole lot happier because she was realistic about what was possible.
Drew,
Heading back to New York early. The roads and airfield should be open by the time you find this. Thank you for yesterday. I didn’t know I needed it.
Bella
I left the note standing in the middle of the kitchen island. A moment later, my phone buzzed with confirmation that a car would be there shortly. I took one last root beer candy from the bowl, the crinkle of the plastic sounding like a betrayal in the quiet house and walked to the front door.
Halfway home, I received a text from Drew: Where are you?
My fingers hovered over the screen. I’d left a note. Telling him to go read it would sound cold. Did he think I was still in the house?
Shit.
The adult in me knew he deserved a response, but that part of me was currently not in charge. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, leaned against the car seat, and closed my eyes. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t pretend this wasn’t hard.
By the time the car dropped me at my building in Midtown, the sun was high and indifferent. I rode the elevator up, my posture composed and my face neutral. The Holliston mask was pinned so tightly I could almost believe it was real.
But the second the door to my apartment clicked shut, the silence of my own life hit like a physical blow. My apartment was a masterpiece of minimalist restraint: glass and steel. It was a base of operations, not a home. Usually, the sterile order calmed me and restored my center.
Today sent me into a spiral.
I stood in the center of the living room, telling myself I had a good life.
I was lucky. So why didn’t I feel that way?
Why was bile rising in my throat at the idea that this life might be all I ever have?
I hugged myself, missing the pressure of Drew’s arm across my waist. I could still smell the soap and cedar of him, lingering proof that I wasn’t the same person who had gone to Vermont.
And I didn’t want to go right back to being her again.
I moved through my apartment without purpose, as if I could force myself to accept this reality.
I set down my bag and opened the fridge, staring at the responsible choices inside before closing it.
I ended up at the kitchen counter, staring at my phone.
Three separate times, I unlocked it. Three separate times, I read his text: Where are you?
In hell, where I likely belong.
Instead of answering, I sent a shared message to Sloane and Jax.
Bella: I’m fine. No one died. But if we could convene an emergency Wednesday lunch meeting at my apartment today, I might not jump from my balcony.
As soon as I hit send, I reread the message. The last part made me sound as if I were about to do something dangerous, and I groaned. What was I thinking? That wasn’t funny.
Bella: JK. I’m okay.
I was mentally self-flogging when a message came from Jax: On my way.
Sloane’s message arrived a heartbeat later: Me too.
Less than an hour later, Sloane and Jax arrived together with their arms full of bags. Jax burst through the door first, nearly dropping a pizza box in her haste to hug me. “Emergency convened! We brought carbs, judgment-free wine, and zero tolerance for self-sabotage.”
Sloane followed more gracefully, but her eyes were already scanning me as if she could diagnose heartbreak from across the room. “And I brought the good stuff—none of that boxed nonsense.”